


Eternity Optional

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Angst, Broken Bones, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hiding, Hotels, Humor, Revelations, Storytelling, Television Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1499086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiona has a good reason for calling Sam so early in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eternity Optional

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merryghoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryghoul/gifts).



> Written for Merryghoul for Ship Swap '14! Hope you enjoy!

“Fi,” came a deep growl from the doorway, “you’d better have a good excuse for calling me at three in the morning…” He trailed off as a bedside lamp clicked on and cast its pale light upon the shoddy motel room. “What the hell happened?” 

She rolled her eyes and flexed her toes over the white partition of plaster swathing her right foot. “My last client happened,” she glowered. “He was a bail jumper who decided the only way to get away from me was to step on my ankle.” 

“Great,” he muttered, cringing at the neon orange walls and dark crimson carpeting as he entered the room and set aside his shades. The door swung closed behind him as he straddled the nearest chair, backwards, and propped a palm against his chin to listen.

“I HAD him, Sam! If I had been one step behind him I wouldn’t be sitting here.” She again glowered at her leg.

“That’s all horseshoes and hand grenades, Fi. How’d you end up here when it was over?” 

She gave him a frown. “You know that little clinic on Tenth.” 

“The one that doesn’t ask questions?” Sam asked.

“I had to get myself patched there,” she continued. “They gave me a bottle of aspirin for my trouble and sent me off on my way. I was knackered from the medication they gave me, so I played helpless tourist to the nearest cab driver. He dropped me off here, I gave the front desk my Gold Card, then I called you and rolled into bed.” She raised an eyebrow. “And what took YOU so long?” she asked.

Sam chuckled nervously. “Elsa had guests in. She wanted to show her boy toy off to her exclusive clientele.” Fiona seemed utterly unimpressed. He coughed. “So why’d you call? Do you need a lift home?”

“Are you joking? Not on the painkillers they shot me up with! I’m staying put for the next ten hours, then you can take me home.”

“Then why the hell do you need me?” he wondered.

She raised an eyebrow. “Does this look like the sort of place that would have room service? I need food, Sam. And since Maddie’s wrapped up in taking care of Charlie, I only had one person to depend on.”

“Sweet. I’m flattered,” he sighed, pulling out his cell and punching in the familiar number for his favorite taco joint. “You ought to be happy you’ve got me,” he declared.

“Oh, I am,” she deadpanned playfully, just to make him cringe. 

An expression he suddenly found shockingly hard to make in her presence.

****

“Here’s your tamale platter. Gustavo said they were all out of jalapenos, so he improvised…don’t ask what that…” he trailed off and dropped the grease-spotted bag to gape in horror at the bed. “What the hell’ve you done to the TV?”

Fi looked up, blowing a mouthful of hair from between her teeth. “It died in the middle of Grey’s Anatomy!” she declared, slapping a greasy palm onto her tanned thigh and glaring at the mass of wires extruding from the back end of the thing. “So I’ve been fiddling with the receiver,” she said. “And…” she started screwing the back of the set back together, “it should work now…”

When she flicked the set on, it did indeed work – even though everything onscreen was squashed and stretched beyond proper viewing. She gave him a smug grin.

“Okay, firstly you’re not supposed to be out of bed, and secondly what do you know about repairing something this big?” he handed her the bag and she tore into the food with gusto. He sipped on a beer, watched the screen until his eyes crossed.

“If I can rewire a car,” she declared. “I can rewire a television.”

“Fair enough,” Sam said benignly. They were nearly finished with their tacos and burritos and guacamole when he said, “okay, enough with the rubberface show!” He grumbled and shuffled the tv and its various parts off the bed. 

Fiona glared from her spot on the mattress. “Well then,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “what are we going to do with our time?”

There was something he hadn’t yet thought out. “Do you play cards?”

“Not with you,” she replied.

“Uh…” he struggled. “Why don’t I tell you as story, then?”

“Then tell me a story. And it had best be a good one, Sam.”

He rolled his eyes. God, she could be childish. “Fine. But if I’m showing you mine, pixie girl, you’d better show me yours!”

He told her about Iraq. About the children, the warmth of the sun beating down on the back of his head, and the stench of a wound festering in the nightmare heat. He spoke of the losses he’d had among his peers, and he told her of the rewards of working to build up and protect villages. There were women, too, beautiful and remote – he honored them and averted his eyes, playing pick-up basketball games with their guides. 

Sam stopped himself when he noticed the room had grown significantly brighter. He was burning the midnight oil, and he’d barely given her a chance to talk.

She gave him a crooked smile, rubbing the corner of her eye against her shoulder. “Is it my turn then?”

So it was. She told him of the Irish coast, of brothers who were protective constrictions, of a sister who was a rival in life and in death. She spoke of the void made in her life by romance and the freedom of walking away from a family into which she no longer fit.

It was morning when the stories ended, the TV flickering in the background. Fiona took her aspirin and tried not to meet his watchful eyes.

“What’s happening to us, Sam?” 

He scooted closer, wary, a curious tiger trying to avoid the lash of her tongue. “So you feel it, too?”

“I’ve felt it since Michael’s been gone. You know it’s there, too – this strange ache, the space where somebody should be. I don’t feel like it’s something I miss in him anymore – but I do know playing Elsa’s fool isn’t making you happy.”

“Heh…yeah.. Thought I was was hiding that one.”

“You’re a terrible actor, Sam,” she said, wiping her eyes again. “We both know that.”

He pulled aside the empty containers of food, the cups of soda filled with half-melted ice, and crawled into bed with Fiona. Mindful of her leg, he let her wrap her arms around his waist.

She eyed her leg. “Suppose I should be grateful for this thing,” she remarked. “For helping me see the light.”

“That and the painkillers and the crappy soap opera…”

“Grey’s Anatomy isn’t ‘crap’.” She already bristled at his absolutes, and he smirked as he envisioned the road ahead. Was this all they’d needed? To share something true with each other after years of subterfuge? It seemed to be so.

He smirked at her. “Aww, look, we’re already fighting, how romantic. Y’know how we’re going to look to the desk clerk.”

“Don’t even bother thinking about them. It looks absolutely heavenly to me,” she replied, tugging him closer by his collar. Their kiss sealed their fate for the next few hours – though tomorrow, and eternity, remained optional.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction uses characters from **Burn Notice** , all of whom are the property of the **USA Network**. No money was gained from the writing of this fanfiction and all are used under the strictures of of the Berne Convention.


End file.
